Free from all prosody's rules, dies such a hymn on the ear.Thee, Aurora, I used to own as the friend of the Muses;。， Then with emphasis answer'd the druggist:--" The terrible storiesTold me to-day will serve for a long time to make me unhappy.Words would fail to describe the manifold pictures of mis'ry.Far in the distance saw we the dust, before we descendedDown to the meadows; the rising hillocks hid the processionLong from our eyes, and little could we distinguish about it.When, however, we reach'd the road that winds thro' the valley,Great was the crowd and the noise of the emigrants mix'd with the waggons.We unhappily saw poor fellows passing in numbers,Some of them showing how bitter the sense of their sorrowful flight was,Some with a feeling of joy at saving their lives in a hurry.Sad was the sight of the manifold goods and chattels pertainingUnto a well-managed house, which the careful owner's accustom'dEach in its proper position to place, and in regular order,Always ready for use, for all are wanted and useful.--Sad was the sight of them now, on many a waggon and barrowHeap'd in thorough confusion, and hurriedly huddled together.Over a cupboard was placed a sieve and a coverlet woollen;Beds in the kneeding troughs lay, and linen over the glasses.Ah! and the danger appear'd to rob the men of their senses,Just as in our great fire of twenty years ago happen'd,When what was worthless they saved, and left all the best things behind them.So on the present occasion with heedless caution they carriedMany valueless chattels, o'erlading the cattle and horses,--Common old boards and barrels, a birdcage next to a goosepen.Women and children were gasping beneath the weight of their bundles,Baskets and tubs full of utterly useless articles, bearing.(Man is always unwilling the least of his goods to abandon.)Thus on its dusty way advanced the crowded procession,All in hopeless confusion. First one, whose cattle were weaker,Fain would slowly advance, while others would eagerly hasten.Then there arose a scream of half-crush'd women and children,And a lowing of cattle, with yelping of dogs intermingled,And a wailing of aged and sick, all sitting and shaking,Ranged in their beds on the top of the waggon too-heavily laden.Next some lumbering wheel, push'd out of the track by the pressure,Went to the edge of the roadway; the vehicle fell in the ditch then,Rolling right over, and throwing, in falling, the men who were in itFar in the field, screaming loudly, their persons however uninjured.Then the boxes roll'd off and tumbled close to the waggon.Those who saw them failing full surely expected to see themSmash'd to pieces beneath the weight of the chests and the presses.So the waggon lay broken, and those that it carried were helpless,For the rest of the train went on, and hurriedly pass'd them,Thinking only of self, and carried away by the current.So we sped to the spot, and found the sick and the agedWho, when at home and in bed, could scarcely endure their sad ailments,Lying there on the ground, all sighing and groaning in anguish,Stifled by clouds of dust, and scorch'd by the fierce sun of summer.
"See," continued his wife, "a few are already returningWho have seen the procession, which long ago must have pass'd by.See how dusty their shoes are, and how their faces are glowingEach one carries a handkerchief, wiping the sweat from his forehead.I, for one, wouldn't hurry and worry myself in such weatherMerely to see such a sight! I'm certain to hear all about it."。， Phoebus strides on before, shaking his curly-lock'd headCalmly and drily Minerva looks down, and Hermes the light one,
Earnestly answer'd the son:--"You are wrong, dear-mother, one day isUnlike another. The youth soon ripens into his manhood.Ofttimes he ripens better to action in silence than livingThat tumultuous noisy life which ruins so many.And though silent I have been, and am, a heart has been fashion'dInside my bosom, which hates whatever unfair and unjust is,And I am able right well to discriminate secular matters.Work moreover my arms and my feet has mightily strengthen'd.All that I tell you is true; I boldly venture to say so.And yet, mother, you blame me with reason; you've caught me employingWords that are only half true, and that serve to conceal my true feelings.For I must need confess, it is not the advent of dangerCalls me away from my father's house, nor a resolute purposeUseful to be to my country, and dreaded to be by the foeman.Words alone it was that I utter'd,--words only intendedThose deep feelings to hide, which within my breast are contending.And now leave me, my mother! For as in my bosom I cherishWishes that are but vain, my life will be to no purpose.For I know that the Unit who makes a self-sacrifice, onlyInjures himself, unless all endeavour the Whole to accomplish."。， The sun, the world quake fearfully.
While a fresh, favouring wind, filling the sails, drove us on.Free was my bosom from yearning; yet soon my languishing glances。， When the pastor heard the praise of the maiden thus utter'dFeelings of hope for his friend forthwith arose in his bosom,And he prepared to ask what had been the fate of the damsel,Whether she, in the sorrowful flight, form'd one of the people?At this moment, however, the druggist nimbly approach'd them,Pull'd the sleeve of the pastor, and whisper'd to him as follows"I have at last pick'd out the maiden from many a hundredBy her description! Pray come and judge for yourself with your own eyes;Bring the magistrate with you, that we may learn the whole story."
1827.*-----"WHAT is science, rightly known?'Tis the strength of life alone.Life canst thou engender never,Life must be life's parent ever.。， [THE remarkable Poem of which this is a literal but faintrepresentation, was written when Goethe was only sixteen yearsold. It derives additional interest from the fact of its beingthe very earliest piece of his that is preserved. The few otherpieces included by Goethe under the title of Religion and Churchare polemical, and devoid of interest to the English reader.]
， But the father sprang up, and said, in words full of anger"Little comfort you give me, in truth! I always have said it,When you took pleasure in horses, and cared for nothing but fieldwork;That which the servants of prosperous people perform as their duty,You yourself do; meanwhile the father his son must dispense with,Who in his honour was wont to court the rest of the townsfolk.Thus with empty hopes your mother early deceived me,When your reading, and writing, and learning at school ne'er succeededLike the rest of the boys, and so you were always the lowest.This all comes from a youth not possessing a due sense of honour,And not having the spirit to try and raise his position.Had my father but cared for me, as I have for you, sir,Sent me to school betimes, and given me proper instructors,I should not merely have been the host of the famed Golden Lion."。， Speak, Hell! where is thy victory?Thy power destroy'd and scatter'd see!